Wages Of Sin
by Storyless and Parron
Summary: What if Auron had never gone back to face Yunalesca, ten years before the game? What if he had instead gone to Besaid to take care of Yuna? What if Tidus had grown up alone? ...And what would happen if they met? [AU, COLLABFIC, FFX and X2 characters]
1. PROLOGUE: Tidus

_Some explanation is needed, I'm afraid, before we can begin this story properly. As the pen-name might imply, this story is written by two individuals, _**Parron** _and _**Storyless**_, both of whom have accounts under those pen-names here on This is a collaboration story, born out of a very, very long discussion on AIM and a second story that was meant to be a one-shot. This account was created simply to host this story; if you're interested in their other works, please go to the profile page for more information._

_(In brief - Parron is the loud, easily amused one, and Storyless is the good writer with good sense. Incidentally, it is Parron doing the writing of this note--PARRON IS COOL & AWESOME. The writing is done in a split process, of sorts - certain characters "belong" to one or the other, all ideas are checked and doublechecked with the other, and the plot is completely hashed out so there's little confusion.)_

_As to the story itself - WAGES OF SIN, also known as WAGES OF or WoS or THE ADVENTURES OF EMOBOB - is a FFX AU that nevertheless manages to use FFX-2 characters. The idea itself is deceptively simple: what if, ten years ago, upon the start of Braska's Calm, Auron **hadn't** gone to Zanarkand, and had instead choosen to escort Yuna to Besaid? What if he had settled down there, creating a peaceful life for himself? And **what if** Tidus had then grown up alone, without anyone to take care of or care for him?_

_**And what if Sin took him into Spira anyway?**_

This is what Wages Of was created to try and explain.

We hope you enjoy this story.

Parron & Storyless

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**WAGES OF SiN: chapter i**

**Prologue: Tidus**

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Zanarkand buzzed like the hive it was, shimmering with neon and humming with electricity. High above it, perched on a roof's edge with legs dangling over the street, Tidus felt nothing but scorn. That was normal for him. The building was by day and evening the head of the Sphere Broadcasting Network, source of all of Zanarkand's news, the tallest in the eastern sector of the city and so the best vantage point over it. It was a gleaming tall building, reflecting night in all of its glass windows.

Tidus pulled himself to his feet, a stray wind blowing his dark hair briefly into his eyes. The SBN had decorated their roof with odd horizontal beams stretching out unconnected to anything but their wall, purposeless and decorated with flashing colored lights. They were a few inches shy of sidewalk width, but slippery due to the polished metal. Tidus climbed up onto the corner one carefully. He'd done it before, but the winds were stronger here and the drop was precarious. More than precarious. The lights of the street were pinpricks.

The view was worth it.

Zanarkand was never quiet, never dark, but up here in the cold was the closest Tidus had ever come to it. Like this, standing on the edge of the beam as through it were a diving board--the only way Tidus could safely step was backwards. Unless he felt like dying. Up here everything was dark, everything but the electric lights and dim stars. Tidus was surrounded. The wind was cold and occasionally threatened to knock him off balance, off the edge.

It was here that Tidus thought of death. He wasn't suicidal, no, but sometimes--just while he was thinking, just something his mind skipped over, a worry stone worn smooth. He didn't want to die, he knew that. He simply wasn't certain if he was happy living, either. Not simply. 'Simple' had nothing to do with it.

Tidus scanned the Zanarkand skyline and alighted his gaze on the Blitzball Stadium. It was lit brighter than most of the rest of the city, searchlights and beams causing the whole area to appear as a mass of white. The Dome in the center glowed pale blue. There was a game tonight, although against who, Tidus didn't know. Tidus hated Blitzball, he never really payed attention.

His father had died when he was seven. Ten years ago, and Tidus could still remember it clearly. There hadn't been much to remember. Jecht had been a Blitzball star, the star, his name a household word. Especially in their own house. Jecht had left one morning to go swimming in the ocean, Blitz training. He hadn't come back.

It was what had come after that Tidus really remembered. Sharp fragments. His mother, glassy eyed. There had been a segment on the news, a famous anchor somberly narrating: "He is survived by a wife and son."

Not for long, though. Tidus' mother was dead by his eighth birthday. It seemed longer, he thought. She had gotten sick right away, within a month of Jecht's funeral. All he could remember of her was coughing and a sallow complexion. A distant gaze. She had held on to her life first until she knew that her husband wouldn't return. And when she had realized he wouldn't... Well. There was another funeral. The fact that she had had a young son hadn't seemed to have mattered to her.

Tidus lived with foster parents now. When he was young, he used to dream of someone--not his father, someone cool--coming to rescue him, someone who would be his real dad. Someone who didn't make fun of him or laugh at him. Or ask him to do stupid things like playing Blitzball, just because _Jecht_ had.

Tidus hated water, just on principle. He glared at the city spread before him. The wind kept blowing his hair in his face. His eyes stung from it. There was one moment--a particularly strong gust of wind. Just for a second he leant to the side--

_--you don't really want to do that, do you?--_

--"Nah," he muttered. He liked living, screwed up as that was. Tidus turned carefully and walked back to the rooftop. The lights of Zanarkand blurred. He took a moment, a little longer, letting thoughts drift away from him, slip away without being concentrated on--he stared into space, calm and still. Then he picked himself up, shoving rough dark hair from his forehead, and headed down the roof-top's emergency stairs.

Although office hours were long over, the SBN was still open. This was Zanarkand, after all. Although not as busy as it would have been during the day, there were still enough people around that Tidus took the back lift down. He wasn't supposed to use their roof, so it seemed wise to try and avoid others.

The joke of it, if there was one, was that it was _after _Tidus had gotten outside that he was noticed. He hadn't been surprised, however. He recognized the producer, a trim, dark haired woman. He'd seen her many times before. She worked for the sports section of the SBN, and periodically did segments on Jecht, segments with names like "The Man Behind The Star" and "Eight Years, Three Months, And The Heartbreak That Remains." Tidus thought she was full of shit. She thought he was an impudent brat.

But not enough of a brat to dissuade her from trying to include him in every last one of her Jecht features. Tidus always said no. She always worked him in anyway.

She hurried over to him before Tidus could more than briefly consider how to escape, flipping up the lid of her NoteTaker as she walked. "Tidus," she said, not bothering with a greeting and knowing full well that he was on the verge of making a break for it. The screen of her NoteTaker glowed blue as it began to transcribe their conversation.

"I'm not interested in an interview." he said.

"Tidus," the woman repeated. She spoke very quickly. "With the anniversary of your father's death approaching, how do you feel? It's been ten years. Does that make the pain feel any greater? Does that remind you of how long it has been since you have seen your father's face, how long it has been since you have heard his voice? Does it bring fresh pain to your heart, knowing this and finally realizing that you will never see or hear him again?"

"Nope," Tidus said. "You said it yourself. It's been ten years. I can barely remember the jerk, and from what I do remember, I'm pretty glad he's dead." The woman's face fell. "What was your name, again?" he added.

She looked at him like he was something unpleasant on the bottom of her shoe. "Have you no respect for your father? Jecht was--is--an inspiration to all of Zanarkand!"

"He was a drunk!" Tidus snapped back, "and he's dead! D-E-A-D. He isn't coming back, ever, and if he did it certainly wouldn't be because he liked your stupid fake documentaries!"

The producer glowered and sputtered and then finally smirked. "You know, let's work with that. 'The Darker Side'--no, I'll think of something catchier later." she was clearly composing aloud, glancing at the NoteTaker every other second to be sure it was copying her correctly, "'Unfounded accusations from a grieving son. Tidus, age sixteen--'"

"I'm seventeen," Tidus pointed out, angry and somehow curious despite himself as to the crap this woman was coming up with.

"Whatever. 'The boy claims that his father, Zanarkand's own hero, Jecht, was in fact a terrible, cruel parent. He spun a most tragic tale for our reporters, one of physical abuse and--'"

"He never hit me, that doesn't mean he wasn't an ass," Tidus snapped.

"So you are making it up!" The woman looked like she had just won some impressive victory. "Face it, dear, you're just a messed up kid--never recovered, perhaps?" Her voice dipped low, into her 'narration' tone. "'Tidus, a troubled child, never fully recovered from his father's tragic death...' How'd you like that, kid? I'll do a whole documentary, just about you! We have great ratings, you know. Your name will be in lights! What do you say?"

"Fuck you," Tidus snapped, then turned and stomped off, heading in the direction of his house and boiling with rage. Like she knew--like anyone knew--so what if she was an idiot, saying things like--Tidus was too angry to even think straight. He hated Jecht. But he hated people like that producer more. People that wanted to overlook all the bad parts. Who pretended that they didn't even exist. People who got so stuck on someone, someone that wasn't even a good person, and--pretended like they were. People stuck on the past.

Tidus seethed the entire way home. It was none of her business--none of anyone's business. Jecht was long dead and good riddance to him; his mother was dead and he missed her even less. They hadn't been good people--good people didn't leave their young sons--even before they had gone, Tidus had been--

He sulked through the metro, glaring at everyone that so much as glanced at him. He sat alone. Tidus let himself get worked up, angry: here he was, he thought--hard life, but he was over that, he was fine, he was perfectly normal--just all those other people. They were the ones--they were the wrong ones. Tidus was the only one that could see it. He knocked past a middle-aged couple as they took too long walking up the sidewalk. Being angry made it hard to keep still, to keep slow.

Tidus' adopted parents looked nothing like him. His father was an engineer, helping to design newer, brighter buildings to replace Zanarkand's already modernly gleaming ones. His mother worked in some office, doing something that involved a lot of paperwork. He was their only child. This wasn't because they couldn't have children of their own, it was because Tidus was so adoptable. It had always bothered him.

His foster parents had been a young, business minded couple. They had had no intentions of having children... but they were Blitz fans. When Jecht's son was suddenly orphaned, they suddenly decided that they wanted to do the right thing and adopt the poor boy. It would have been one thing if they had had other children after Tidus. They hadn't.

It pissed Tidus off. "I'm home," he yelled, as if the apartment door slamming shut behind him hadn't been enough of an indicator of that already. He kicked his boots off and left them sprawled on the entry hall's floor. It was almost ten at night, but no one was home. Not exactly unusual. His parents weren't terrible people, Tidus figured, but to call them a close family was a lie. They had only adopted him because he was Jecht's son. And he only put up with them because they took care of him.

He was turning eighteen in a few months. Then he'd be old enough to get his own apartment and move away. Tidus wandered over to the kitchen and dug around the fridge, pulling out a can of soda after some rummaging. It was a special commemorative "Blitz Can," advertising the start of the Blitz season - the first game, Abes versus Duggles, was later tonight. Each can was decorated with a player from one of Zanarkand's teams. This was was adorned with a tough looking woman with red hair: KARAN, the text yelled, MVP OF THE ABES!

"Stupid," Tidus muttered, putting the soda back and grabbing a carton of milk instead. His parents were probably at the game. They were huge Blitz fans, unlike Tidus. The family kept a dry erase board on the wall by the door to the living room, and he went there next, looking for a note. Sure enough, his foster mother had scrawled one for him in red marker. _We'll be at the game! We're looking forward to you coming! Our seats are 22 A, B and C. It'll be fun! Please come, dear. We waited so we could leave together, but you were out with friends. I hope you get this note in time!_

"Stupid," Tidus repeated, drinking from his glass of milk. He walked away from the board, ignoring it, before reconsidering and going back to erase the message completely. He hated Blitzball. Why the hell would he want to go to a game? His parents were such idiots.

The apartment was smallish, but big enough for the three of them. The kitchen and dining room had been combined into one large room, and an open doorway lead to the living room. Past that was a hall leading to the bedrooms, Tidus' father's study, and the bathrooms. Tidus' room had a view of the harbor from his window. Years ago, he had taped a picture over the Blitz dome, replacing the sight of it with a photograph of a sandy beach. It was a sort of stupid picture, actually. But still a lot better than having to see the Stadium every time he glanced out the window.

Tidus' room was pretty bare. A bed, a desk with a computer, a chair and a dresser. He didn't spend much time in it. Tidus flopped down backwards onto his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. He was... bored. No school today or yesterday, so he didn't even have homework to do. He'd spent his entire day wandering around Zanarkand and doing minor trespassing, but his encounter with the reporter had thrown him off what had promised to be several more hours of lurking yet. He was still angry, but in a faded way, a light-bulb covered by a layer or two of cloth. That's always how it was. It was just too tiring to stay angry all the time, be angry at everything annoying, so instead Tidus just put it aside, put it in the back of his mind and tried to ignore it, so that he just simmered instead of boiled. He didn't normally let idiots like that reporter get the best of him--but--

Tidus sat up abruptly and went over to his dresser. Maybe he'd go out after all, to the Blitz game. Not because he liked Blitz--because he didn't, he hated and despised the game, it was stupid and overrated and--and--Tidus suddenly wanted to go see his house. The old houseboat. Where he had lived before. He didn't have any fond memories of his parents, his real parents, but he had liked that house. On the cities outskirts, on the docks, where it had actually gotten dark at night. His bedroom window there had overlooked the city, and instead of traffic he had fallen asleep listening to the lapping of water.

It hadn't all been completely terrible, he thought, somewhat reluctantly. Sometimes Jecht--Tidus had long stopped thinking of him as 'Father'--was in a better mood, not so drunk, jovial with a rough infectious sort of charisma. He'd sprawl in the living room and shout conversations with Tidus and his mother--Mother would smile timid and give Tidus snacks, sitting with Jecht's arm thrown casually over her shoulders, television blazing music and sports. Tidus would be allowed to sit too, drinking milk, mother brushing his hair with her fingers, tugging out snarls.

_--it's been ten years_, _the boy in purple said._

"Not that I miss them," Tidus said irritably. He pulled his clothes off quickly and changed into something more suitable for the cities outskirts. It was always cooler on the water. Dark blue jeans and a black sweatshirt. Tidus didn't look good in dark colors, they matched his brown hair too well and made his skin look pale, but he stubbornly bought them anyway, because he hated fashion and black always matched. Mother used to dress him in collars and slacks, Jecht would give him things in tangerine and marigold--no one he had known was dead, then, and Tidus hadn't had a single gray piece of clothes.

--_don't cry, the child said, innocent and vicious_.

Tidus shook his head and ran a hand through his messy dark hair. "This is so stupid." So was talking to yourself, he thought bitterly. Why was he suddenly doing this? Going to visit the old house, abandoned or owned by some other people now--some sort of idiots--he should just stay home. Go to bed early. Watch the sphere. Didn't know what he was thinking--Tidus frowned, running his fingers over his sweatshirt to smooth it. He shouldn't bother. Never mind that he was anxious, restless--wanted to get out, go out, move--Unlike him. It was unlike him. Positively weird, now that Tidus thought about it, strange that he would suddenly start thinking of the past, of Jecht, of going to the old house--

_--I think it's a good idea. Things may change, yet... the boy smiled and was gone. _

--But then again, Tidus was just getting angrier and angrier, pacing around his room. Tacky palm trees taped to his window-glass, blocking the views of the Blitz Stadium--he wanted to get out, and he was just getting worse stuck here. What harm could a quick walk do, anyway? Maybe he wouldn't go to the docks after all. Maybe Tidus would just sulk around town a little. Do more minor trespassing. If you got into the modern art museum in the north part of the city, climbed up on the roof, you could almost see the far off Nameless Mountains. No one had bothered exploring or claiming them; there was no point to leaving the grandeur of the City. If you went to the offices of the Bank, in the west, you could almost see the edge of the world from the rooftop. Should go there, to one of them.

Or maybe not. The problem with over-thinking, it was hard to stop. Tidus climbed onto his bed and tore the photograph from his window, leaving little squares of tape on the glass. The room brightened slightly, the Blitz Dome--roaring--filling his view. Distaste was sharp in his mouth. People said that the smell of the ocean was good for you, calming. Tidus climbed down from the bed, tossing the crumpled poster into a corner. Just a quick visit. "Here I come," said Tidus, affectedly bitter.

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Something moved in the waters off Zanarkand. A lone yacht, uninterested in the night's Blitz game and instead enjoying having the ocean to itself, was host to a small party of sports uninterested socialites. One young woman, drinking out on the deck, looked to the sea dreamily. Something called in the waters somewhere close, a snatch of a ghostly song. The woman smiled at the sea, tipsy. Maybe she'd see a whale.

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Tidus began to regret his decision immediately. The piers were deserted and mostly dark, people either asleep or attending the ongoing Blitz match. A fog was rolling in, and even the holo-lamps were failing to cut far into the mist. So what if he had lived here, once? That had been years ago. There was no point to visiting here now. Stupid to have indulged himself. Shouldn't have come.

It was getting cold. Tidus had forgotten the way the ocean cooled things on the piers, how it would be chilly here when it was warm in the rest of the city. He brushed his dark hair out of his eyes and wished he had brought a jacket instead of just a thin sweatshirt, fine for casual strolls and papery in the cold and damp. He might as well just turn around, go home. Sulk around the apartment some more, climb to the Bank's roof after all. There was no point to this--

--Tidus whipped his head around, frowning confused. Had someone said something--was that a voice? He thought that he had heard

(_someone)_

something calling for him... but the only sound was the soft lapping of waves against the metal piers. Whatever. There was nothing here. This trip was useless, completely useless--Tidus turned around, planning on going home at once, before he had wasted any more time. Stupid place, misty and empty of everything but bitter memories--stupid him, letting himself get creeped out by it all, bugged by it, letting it get to him--it--whatever it was--the constant feeling of alienation, of people looking at Tidus and seeing someone else, seeing someone who was an asshole and dead and gone--Had to get out of here, that was for certain. Had the wind just picked up, or was he just spooking himself more?

No sooner had Tidus thought this than the pier exploded.

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Screaming. He gasped and breathed salt water, clamped his mouth shut and tasted blood. His tongue--disjointed. It didn't matter. Water and swirling darkness all around, wood and metal and who knew what else, something else, something--SOMETHING THERE SOMETHING

screaming: screaming: screaming: echoes. He was underwater, he couldn't scream, he couldn't hear, but all he could do was listen, was scream, he was made of sound, he was sound, he was drowning, his lungs were sharp knives in his chest, blood flooded his mouth, his ears burst, he was, he was--

You are. You are. You are you are you are you are my my my my I am I am you are i am

_(i)_

i am are you are we are you you you youyouyouyou

_(i know) _

we are you are i am am am

_(i know you)_

i am you.

--falling--

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He came to in the middle of the ocean. The skies were cloudy gray and the water a darker shade of the same. His eyelashes were rimmed in salt. He stirred. He was clinging to a board that might have once been part of a door, his arms wrapped over the top so tightly that he could barely feel them. His clothes were waterlogged, his legs limp in the water. He had lost a sneaker somehow.

Taking stock was easy, but he ran out of things to take stalk of after a few moments. Or seconds--or hours? There was nothing. No waves, no birds, no other debris. Just his door, himself, and an endless sea. Where--

It was difficult to think, difficult to remember. Had something exploded? A fiend attack, an explosion, an

(_attack?)_

accident? Everything was so empty; the skies, the seas... empty... he started as he realized, jerking slightly in the water. There were no people, no boats, no distant sounds of life. How far had he drifted? How was it possible that no one had come by now? Where was he? How far--

He felt tendrils of panic winding their way up his body, filling his throat and stomach. Surely there would be an explanation. A boat would come. People would investigate the explosion. When night fell, he'd be able to see the city's lights.

But he had never been a good swimmer, his stubborn resistance to all things concerning his father keeping him from anything more than the sort of basic swimming needed to stay afloat in a shallow pool. Even if he saw the lights, how would he get there? He'd drown, starve, dehydrate--freeze. The water he was mostly submerged in seemed to cool at the very thought.

But someone would come. Someone would come. He tightened his grip on the door and scooted up the wood slightly, so that most of his upper body lay atop it. He rested his face against the grain once he was sure his new position wouldn't cause him to capsize or sink.

Despite his fears, he was soon asleep, unconscious and dreamless and exhausted from fear.

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_...to be updated next **THURSDAY**_. 


	2. sleep

_Hello and Hajime, everyone! This is Parron again, cheerfully and energetically taking advantage of her duties as Chapter Poster to hijack this author's note. Thanks so much for the phenominal amount of attention for the prologue/first chapter, we're both really floored and amazed by it. Thank you_

_A question was raised by one of the reviewers that I thought I'd address, in what we'll call PARRON'S QUESTION CORNER: **why does Tidus have brown hair?** That's simply because in this world... he never dyed it blond. Well, everyone, just look at a picture of Tidus. He's a bottle blond. His natural colour is brown or black--I decided on brown because of Jecht. Where is the evidence for this? Well..._

_1. Both his parents have dark hair._

_2. Tidus has dark eyebrows._

_3. In flashbacks to his childhood, Tidus' hair is shown as brown_

_and 4. You can see his roots!_

_At the very least, Tidus - game Tidus, not the Emobob of this story - has very sunbleached hair. Regardless, brown is his natural hair colour, so that's the way it is in this story. Whether or not it stays that way will remain a mystery until later chapters... hahaha... do you think he'd look nice in green? (evil laugh)_

_Please enjoy this chapter, everyone!  
_

_Storyless & Parron_

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**WAGES OF SiN: chapter ii**

**(sl.eep)  
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The _Cay Cmik_ wasn't the vessel's official name—the real name was RTA8067V—but since the salvaging ship was a huge metal beast with a top speed that only barely outstripped a man on a chocobo, _Cay Cmik _had been adopted and stuck. She had a crew of forty-eight, salvagers, mechanics, engineers and so on, a doctor, cook and three children whose job was only to assist with chores. Her captaincy was shared by a brother and sister, both young, even for Al Bhed. 

Cid was the elder child, although of course no one called him that; Cid was his father's name, too, and the teenager resented it. He was Captain or more commonly Aniki, some ancient word translatable as "older brother." Even in names he was in his sister's shadow. That wasn't Rikku's fault, not exactly. Aniki was a fair enough leader, but she was more interested in people than he would ever be. She was nosy at worst and a social butterfly at best. She had the knack of remembering what was wrong with who, and then the ability to do all she could to fix it.

It was only on Rikku's insistence that the _Cay Cmik _had taken aboard the drifter, although he was half dead and a Yevonite—at best. At worst, he was some new sort of fiend, some Sin-creature with mastery over the human form, a new sort of cruelty. Had the Al Bhed been even a little religious, they would have prayed and cast the boy back overboard. Instead, room was made in the medical cabin, and grumbling about the extra work in cooking, cleaning, caring and possibly fighting the forty-ninth crewmember was giving them.

Rikku ignored all such talk and visited the recovering human regularly. Partially, she was fascinated. Her father forbade contact with non-Al Bhed, and she had never been so close to one before as a result. She admired his pale skin and dark hair. She wondered what his eyes would look like when opened. She was interested by the lack of scars on his arms, scars that any Al Bhed who could call himself a mechanic or machinist had dozens of by the time he was twelve or thirteen. But he was thinner than she would have liked, and had a pinched, unhappy look about him. Even in sleep.

Mostly, Rikku felt pity for the recovering boy. Anyone left alone, drifting in the Baaj ocean had to have some sort of sad story behind him, whether he was Al Bhed or fiend. Or Yevonite.

"Smells like shit in here." The door was heavy metal with rusted joints and announced the boy's entrance better and louder than he himself could have done. "Disinfectant and shit. Why do you hang out here so much, anyway?" He was eight months older and half a foot taller, both things Rikku resented him for.

"Pochi here," she said, not looking up from the large book resting awkwardly on her knees, "is sick."

"Pochi?" Gippal echoed the name uncertainly. "He a dog or a Yevonite?" Regardless of what Pochi was, Gippal sat himself down on the foot of the invalid's bed, pushing the boy's legs out of the way. "Guess it doesn't matter. He's your _pet _either way, right?" The word in Common to drive home the insult. He noticed for the first time what Rikku was reading and glared at it—a Common-Al Bhed dictionary.

"He hasn't woken up yet, so I can't ask him his real name," Rikku said, unaffected by Gippal's remarks. "What did you come around here for, anyway?"

"Thought you might want to hang out. Finished the engines, don't you wanna see?" Aside from the chore-children, Gippal and Rikku were the youngest of the crew—fifteen and sixteen years old. He was used to spending his free hours with her, and being dropped for a soggy Yevonite was more insult than Gippal could bear.

"I don't want Pochi to wake up alone," Rikku said, voice taking on a motherly edge. "Doctor-sir's shift is over. Won't be back for another three hours."

"So what? Come on; let's go get some food, then. We'll eat together. A date." Not much of a date on a ship, but Gippal was counting on the word as incentive. He wasn't jealous, he knew, just annoyed—wasn't good for someone to get attached to Yevonites, especially not stupid people like Rikku. She was too impressionable, that was her problem—she let people walk all over her, and Gippal was only looking out for her by trying to take her away.

"But what if he wakes up? All alone, on an Al Bhed ship, with no idea how he got here, or what the Al Bhed are gonna do to him—he'll be scared. I want there to be someone with him. And," Rikku added, proudly, "I've been practicing my Common these past couple days."

"What if he's scared? So what if he is! He's Yevon, not a pet. You shouldn't feel sorry for him. Who cares if he freaks out to be on one of our ships. Serves him right," Gippal said stubbornly, darkly, glaring down the bed at the sleeping boy. The light in the hospital bay was adequate and florescent, and it cast odd shadows on Pochi's face, raising his cheekbones and throwing the top half of his face in shadow, mixing with the fall of his hair.

"You don't care at all, do you?" Rikku said, distressed now and shutting her book with a thud.

"No." The flatness of his tone stretched into the accompanying silence. After a minute Gippal added, somewhat awkwardly, "Don't see why you do, either."

"Heartless," Rikku said, a thin line of bitterness in her voice this time. "Want to dump him overboard, then?"

"He's sick. What else are we supposed to do with him? We can't bring him to Home, and we aren't going to land for another two months anyway. Say he gets better, what are you planning to do with him?" He felt a burst of annoyance when Rikku's gaze on the sleeping boy turned tender.

"We can't just throw him in the water," Rikku said. "Aniki agrees with me." And we're in charge, she didn't have to add.

"Gonna have a mutiny on your hands," Gippal said darkly, standing up. "Yevon's bad luck."

"Gippal—" This time, Rikku's attention centered on her friend. "Come on. You're acting weird. I'm sorry." She had the habit of pleading. "Come on. Stick around."

"I don't want to," he said, and she looked upset enough that he felt better. "Stuffy in here, anyway, and smells. Deck's better, let's go."

Rikku was pacified. "Told you, I'm not leaving Pochi. We'll eat here and open the window." The window was a thick, murky porthole that someone had taped a drawing of a beach over.

Gippal sat himself down hard on the patient's legs. "Pochi?" he asked again.

"Had a fish named Pochi once. Shiny purple." She indicated with her hands the approximate size of the long-ago pet.

"Ain't a _fish _name, either."

The dark haired boy slept on.

* * *

x x x

* * *

But by the end of the week, even Aniki had told Rikku that if her pet, if her Pochi didn't wake up in a day or two, he was going overboard. The only thing less useful than a dead person was one in a coma, her brother pointed out, abstractly intelligent only when he wasn't trying. At least you could put the dead behind you, mourn them and move on. Sick people required attention and work, and both of those were in high demand on a salvage ship. 

"He means, get working," Gippal said, wiping the engine oil on his hands onto his trouser legs. "Come on, Riks. Don't you wanna see the crap they dug up last dive?"

"I was on that dive," the girl pointed out. "I dug up that crap."

"Don't you wanna see it?" Pressing the issue. She looked tired, Gippal thought, sort of worn and still, and that wasn't a good sign. "I'm bored without you."

Well. They both avoided each other's eyes at that, red faced. Gippal had a cousin who was like a sister, but Nhadala was five years older and not good for fun. Rikku and Aniki were the best friends he had, Rikku especially. Little sister, that was what she was—that was all he had meant.

"Guess so," Rikku said, chewing a thumbnail and casting half a glance down at Pochi's bed. "Should make sure that the _mechanics _haven't messed up my stuff," she added brightly, batting her eyes at Gippal, who narrowed his in return.

"Without me, we might as well throw your crap back in the water." But it was said cheerfully: mechanics and engineering was Gippal's life, just like water and alchemy was Rikku's. They made a good team.

Out on the deck it was stormy, grey and choppy. No rain yet, but any fool could see it was brewing. Unnecessary supplies had been brought below-decks, and the rest secured and tied. Rikku looked around. "Gonna be a big one?"

"Not really, just being safe," Gippal said, worldly for having been on securing duty earlier in the day. "Haven't you been above deck at all?"

"No," Rikku said. "No chores except diving, and we aren't at the next site for another few days. Maybe more with the rain." Swimming and diving took a lot of strength and energy, so the salvagers generally had the lightest workload of the crew. Gippal was jealous, but only a little. His parents had died when their ship was attacked by Sin, years ago. Their bodies, drowned, had been found in the wreckage. He wasn't afraid of ships, and no more afraid of Sin than anyone else, but he was a little uneasy about swimming in open water. He always had the feeling of _something _looming up under him, growing, rising, and sliding against his toes...

Everyone had their phobias, their Sin-fears. Gippal knew a lot of Al Bhed too superstitious to even step foot on a boat. The ocean was Sin's domain, cold, wet, and the opposite of the desert. Unnatural, some of the elders said. Al Bhed are safe in the sands. But everyone understood the need for oceanic salvaging. Much had been lost when the old island was destroyed—salvaging was necessary, even if it meant the ocean.

The Al Bhed's old Home had been on an island near Bikanel, the desert uninhabited but for a few small camp-villages and hundreds of thousands of fiends. Eighteen years ago, Sin had destroyed the island completely, and the survivors had migrated to the desert. Gippal and Rikku were in the first generation of children born in the new city of Home; Aniki had been an infant when the city was built. All Gippal had ever known was the desert and the fiends. "Too cold," he said, to make conversation. The desert got cold at night, but this was damp cold.

Rikku was staring out over the sea. "Hope Pochi wakes up soon."

Gippal was disgruntled. "You haven't even been gone five minutes. Think about something else for a while!"

"It's just that he's sick. I've never seen anything like it," she said apologetically, as if she had vast experience with medicine. "He just sleeps."

"Maybe he'll never wake up."

"There's a Blitz tournament in Luca in a few months, right?" Rikku said. "Been thinking. We'll all be there, getting supplies, so we can drop him off. Everyone in Spira will be in Luca, just about. Maybe Pochi's family, too. If he has any."

"And if he doesn't, then what? You gonna adopt him?"

"We'll leave him at a hospital if he's still sleeping," Rikku said. "If he's awake, I'll help him find a job before we go."

That was more like it, but still: "That's two months from now."

She shrugged out at the water. Gippal was sick of talking about Pochi, sick and tired of the whole affair—so why did he keep mentioning it? Why—he knew it bugged him, so why couldn't he just let it drop, huh? Because Rikku wouldn't drop it. Because Rikku was spending all her time with some Yevonite, and that was—wrong.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked, her attention having shifted from the ocean to his darkening expression. Tugged his sleeve. "Come on, don't be mad. Said I'm sorry."

He wanted to ask her why, again: why she was spending all her time so stupidly. He bit the inside of his cheek instead. "Ain't mad," he said.

"Good," Rikku said, and hopped up to sit on the ship's rail, facing in towards him. "Hate it when you're mad."

Oh. "I just don't trust Yevonites," he said.

"I know." Rikku hesitated for several minutes, kicking her feet and drawing a breath. "Gippal, I—"

The ship lurched suddenly, and Gippal had to grab for her to keep her from toppling over the edge. He caught her as she fell against him, on reflex wrapping arms around her and looking over her shoulder—disturbance in the water? Something prickled up his neck. Rikku shoved herself away from him to look, too. "What's going on?" she yelled, for anyone to answer.

Several other crewmen were rushing up to the deck. "Sin?" Rikku asked, the question repeated back to her as soon as she asked it. They were all edgy, clutching railings and standing tense. "The captain—" Gippal tried suggesting, as the ship lurched again, more violently, and a few people staggered and even fell over.

Rikku had been staring dazedly at the sea, but snapped to attention at this. Shorter than most of the crew by over a head, she shouted her way into the centre of attention of the twenty or so Al Bhed assembled, nervously milling about. "Hey! What the hell you guys doing away from your posts? Think you can get away with shit like this," she added, only prone to swearing when in a position of authority and trying to make a command, something Gippal was fairly certain she had picked up from her father. "If Sin _is _here, we don't wanna be stuck on the decks cuz you all abandoned the engines," she pointed out, hands on her hips.

"Don't want to be stuck down below, either," a man shouted back.

"Maybe it was just technical problems," a woman pointed out, loudly. "Might not have been Sin at—oh, hell." Because something on the horizon had just surfaced. Too big for a whale, a sight far too familiar.

"It's a ways away, right?" Gippal asked no one in particular. Rikku's authority was slipping away again, and she—suddenly small again—slipped back beside him. "Far off. Doesn't always attack from this distance." The others were starting to talk, to make their own plans, Rikku's orders forgotten and ignored if not. Should they evacuate? Pray? Run?

"Where's my brother?" Rikku said suddenly, pale and looking around her. "Where's Aniki? He's not here."

Way to change the subject, Gippal thought with some exasperation. Who cared? "Probably in the engine room or something. Hanging out with the navigators. Who _cares_?"

"My brother..." Rikku was edging away, eyes wide and edgy. "He has to know—Sin—" Gippal tried to grab her hand, frustrated, but Rikku slipped away too quickly for that, vanishing below-decks. She wasn't sure what she was doing, not exactly, only that if Aniki didn't know—if for some reason—or if he did know—he shouldn't be alone, he shouldn't be below-decks. Least on top you could try and swim for it. Rikku's orders to the rest of the crew had been forgotten, and she raced and skidded through the corridors. Those of the crew who hadn't raced to the deck were milling about anxiously in the halls, having guessed at least mostly what the affair was about. A few tried to ask Rikku questions, but she ran past, ignoring them utterly.

"Aniki!" she shrieked, rounding a corner and catching sight of her brother's tattoos at last with a feeling of irrational relief—she'd half expected, somehow, that he was dead, that she was the only one left in charge, that she was now the leader.

He whirled around at her call, squinting in the dim light and too vain for glasses. "Rikku. I was just looking for you."

"I—" she gasped, her sprinting catching up to her suddenly. She sagged against the metal wall and clutched at a stitch in her side. Sin is here, she meant to say, but she had to breathe first.

"Your patient," Aniki said, gesturing roughly behind him at the still-open door of the hospital wing. "Yevony just woke up."

* * *

x x x

* * *

_...to be updated next **THURSDAY**_. 


	3. person

_Hello and Hajime, everyone! This is Parron yet again, relishing in her duty as Author's Note Writer. We're honoured again by the feedback recived, even if we were a little -- OK, just Parron -- was a little sad that there were hardly any reviews last time around. Worse yet, no one asked any questions of the story!_

_Instead I will tell you something useless. The nickname Pochi that Rikku gave Tidus is, as Gippal pointed out last time, not really the sort of name you give a boy. "Pochi" is a very common Japanese dog's name. It would be as if Rikku named Tidus "Spot" or "Fido."_

_She's a very caring friend... (laugh)_

_By the way, the story itself has the nickname of "The Adventures of Emobob." This is because Parron and Storyless started writing seperately. Parron wrote by herself the first chapter - the "Tidus Prologue," and while she was doing so, she kept complaining about it. And started calling Tidus "Emobob." Later, when they began work on the actual story and were searching for a title, Parron suggested "The Adventures of Emobob." Storyless came up with "Wages of Sin," which is why we have that name instead. (laugh) But it'll always be Emobob to me...! By the way, Storyless also wrote a seperate prologue for this story, telling everyone what AURON has been up to these past ten years. It'll be up, just not quite yet. Look forward to it!_

_And please enjoy this chapter!_

_Storyless & Parron_

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x x x**  
**

* * *

**WAGES OF SiN: chapter iii**

**(per.son.)**

* * *

x x x

* * *

When he woke up, Tidus could speak Al Bhed. Words and phrases of the alien language had found their way into his subconscious - not enough to speak, or understand fluently, but enough that he could listen in on most conversation. He didn't tell Rikku any of this, understanding somehow the value of this sort of secret—the girl _seemed _nice, but the Al Bhed didn't trust him—that was clear even without being able to understand their language. 

For his part, Tidus didn't trust the Al Bhed either. He'd never heard of a group, let alone race with that name, and there was something edgy about them all. Around him, they whispered and spoke in tense voices. While it was at first somewhat defiantly refreshing, to be disliked as much as he disliked them, to not have Jecht's name acting as a wall of false politeness, it was quickly growing old. It had been made clear to Tidus in the beginning by the Captain that he would have to work to be fed, and other then that and orders, Tidus was generally ignored. This would have suited him, except that the rest of the Al Bhed acted like a jovial family, yelling and calling to one another, never spending any time alone. All Tidus' life he had wanted to be alone, avoid all of the unwanted attention. He didn't know why being left alone was bothering him now.

The only people that would talk to him in a greater fashion then to shout an order were Rikku and Gippal. Tidus wasn't sure what he thought of either of them—Gippal was easy enough to understand; he was blunt and suspicious and frank about it, he only put up with Tidus' occasional company because of Rikku. At least he was honest about it. The thing Tidus hated most was superficiality.

Rikku was another story. She seemed to be under the impression that Tidus was a pet, her pet, mildly intelligent and endearing and desiring only coddling. She, he had decided, was the worst kind of annoying; the fake, condescending kind that didn't even realise that she was in fact acting that way. He didn't understand why anyone liked her, not until Gippal explained—condescending himself, but out of annoyance—that her father was the Al Bhed's leader.

At least they didn't keep him in the dark. Rikku had decided early on that Tidus was suffering from head injuries and possible Toxin from Sin, and so had taken on the task of re-educating him herself. Al Bhed and Yevon had been explained to Tidus, enough so that he understood why his dark hair and blue eyes were causing suspicion among the crew—even if he thought it was stupid. There was nothing like Yevon in Zanarkand, and even if they didn't know he was from there, they all thought he had memory loss—so why should his Yevon appearance make a difference?

Sin had also been explained to Tidus, but more briefly. Sin was a punishment, some sort of destructive creature living in the sea. No one seemed willing to say much more then that, and when Tidus asked Rikku, even she looked edgy and changed the subject. He had the feeling they were hiding something from him.

"You, wake up!" To punctuate his remark, Gippal aimed a kick at the leg of Tidus' chair, causing him to jolt to the side. "No staring out the window, you're on duty." Gippal was straightforward and Tidus could both understand and appreciate it, but that didn't mean that he liked him any.

"Cleaning duty." Tidus didn't mind working. The first few days he had been left completely alone, and he had about died of boredom. He didn't consider himself exactly active, but he went crazy if he didn't have anything to do. Back home he had wandered Zanarkand, but there wasn't much to explore on a salvage ship. "I already finished."

"So?" But Gippal left him alone. The mess hall was empty this time of day aside from them and three adults talking on the other end of the room, a mess of metal chairs and tables bolted to the floor. Gippal sat backwards in a nearby chair, his arms folded over the back. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing." Gippal had only one working eye and kept the other covered, but that didn't keep his glares from being any less sharp. Tidus shrugged. "I told you, I'm finished. What else am I supposed to do?"

"Find some more work to do?"

"No." Tidus didn't even bother pretend to consider it. "I already cleaned up in here. Toilets, too. Don't you have kids to do this work?" He'd seen them around. Little blonde brats. two boys and a girl.

"Sure, until you came along." Gippal was grinning lazily. "Thanks to you, they now have more free time to learn mechanics. Everyone's real grateful."

"So what? What's the big deal," Tidus muttered, whining a little. This was the first real conversation—if you could call it that—he'd ever had with Gippal by himself. Usually Rikku was around, too, flitting between them. They were nearing a dive, though—Tidus had overheard some of the crew talking about it—and Rikku was busy preparing.

"They're Al Bhed. We're mechanics. They have to learn." Gippal quirked an eyebrow and didn't add _duh_.

"It's not that hard, is it?" Tidus had seen some of the devices the Al Bhed used. A lot of them looked like the stuff they had in Zanarkand, although more broken down and less sophisticated. "They're just normal things."

"That's what you think," Gippal said superiorly. Tidus rolled his eyes and slouched in his chair, convinced he was right. It wasn't exactly _difficult _to make a lot of machines work; they were built with the user's ease in mind. The Al Bhed didn't seem to know what a lot of their junk was meant to do, which just proved to Tidus that _they _were the idiots, not him. Gippal caught the look on Tidus' face and smirked. "What, you going to say you're an expert at machina? _Tuh'd pa cdibet. _Especially for a Yevonite, that's thick."

"I'm not stupid," Tidus said, a little more forcefully than he had meant to. Gippal looked mildly shocked that Tidus had understood him, and Tidus savoured the expression. "Of course I can work that shit. I had half of it in my _house. _My da—my adopted dad loves tech-crap. It's no big deal. You only look stupid when you try to act like it is."

Gippal seemed to be at a slight loss for words. After a moment he held up his hands. "You're telling me," he said, "that you know machina. That you _use _machina."

"Course, who doesn't?" Rikku had told him about Yevon, so Tidus knew the answer already, but he was ticked and didn't care if he made perfect sense. "Where I come from, it's only the idiots that can't. _Eteud_," he added, oddly pleased his first word in the Al Bhed language was that.

To his surprise, Gippal grinned. "How long you been speaking Al Bhed?"

"Dunno. Since I woke up. Picked it up." Tidus wanted to get back to the argument, realising that he wanted to get into a screaming match, some sort of dirty release.

"Uh _huh_." Gippal gave Tidus' hair a long, hard look. The kid's eyes were the wrong colour, too—no way he was Al Bhed or even a half. "Where did you say you were from? I thought you had complete amnesia." His voice was doubtful: Gippal had never really believed that to start with. Maybe he should've. He wasn't sure if he liked the idea that Yevonites were into Al Bhed things, too.

"Zanarkand." Tidus said, shrugging. He gave up on the fight; it clearly wasn't going to happen anymore.

Gippal laughed darkly. "_Right_. Seriously."

"I am serious." Tidus snapped. "Want me street address? ID number?"

"There Sin in Zanarkand?" Gippal asked suddenly, as if something else had just occurred to him.

"No." No point in lying. "First time I saw it was..." Was when? When had he ever seen Sin? For the first time, Tidus wondered if the accident at the pier was related—but—"Never heard of Sin before I ran into you guys."

"Liar," Gippal snapped, standing up abruptly. "You're lying, and you _don't _lie about this sort of shit. You've seen Sin before, everyone here—" he cut himself off. "Never mind. I gotta get back to work." He began to march off, but Tidus darted up and around, blocking the taller boy off.

"No. No you don't. You're going to finish that sentence," Tidus said darkly, having an inkling that this was connected to the suspicion the Al Bhed had been throwing his way, even more than this incorrect appearance.

"You know perfectly well what Sin is. Everyone in Spira does."

"I _don't_. Why do you say I do?" Tidus grew impatient. "I've only been here a couple of weeks! How could I have seen Sin? According to you guys, I slept through the first week!"

"Exactly!" Gippal hissed rather than shouted, his accent growing thick in his irritation. "You _did _sleep. And Sin came."

"_So_?"

"So, Sin came and didn't attack." Tidus was less than impressed by the apparent meaning of this, but Gippal continued: "You woke up _right _when Sin arrived. And Sin _left _after you were awake. See what I mean?"

"You think—what?" Tidus strained to follow Gippal's logic. "I'm Sin? I'm some sort of Sin magnet?" He frowned. "And hey, you know, if that's what it is, you should be _thanking_ me. Sin left without attacking when I woke up, _right_? So if I really—have something to do with it, then that's _good _for you." The logic was somewhat convoluted, but Gippal got the message, a crease appearing on his brow as he considered. A connection with Sin? Tidus didn't know all that much about this place and that thing yet, but he knew enough to know that was—that was—

"Even if you did send Sin away, that's not better," Gippal said, voice low. "Either way, means you're connected to It—" and Tidus could hear the capital letter "—and that means you're bad luck. Sinspawn."

"I'm..." The galley door flew open before Tidus could finish or decide what he was, Rikku dashing in in a burst of blonde pigtails and brightly coloured wet-suit. Her enthusiasm faded slightly at the appearance of the boys: standing tensely facing one another, Gippal angry and Tidus wary.

"Uh?" It wasn't coherent, but it worked. Gippal backed away from Tidus suddenly, unclenching his fists. Without a word to Rikku, he turned and stomped out of the galley, his footfalls loud on the metal floor. "Did you fight?" Rikku asked Tidus slowly, sounding hopeful that she was wrong.

Tidus shrugged, suddenly tired. And confused. Connected to Sin... connected to something he had never seen or heard of... that was impossible... but... "Yeah," he said abruptly. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't get along with him." With all the Al Bhed.

"Don't take it personally," Rikku advised, sounding worried that Tidus was actually upset about what Gippal had said. "He's just..." a flicker of a smile. "He's kinda bitter lately. He was _going _to join the Crusaders, and got all the way to Luca... they didn't let him in. They said it was cuz of his eye, you know, he's half blind?" As if Tidus hadn't noticed the perpetual patch or cloth tied over Gippal's right eye. "They said it would be dangerous to fight like that, but it's really cuz he's Al Bhed. So he's touchy. It's nothing _personal_." Tidus hated her for trying to comfort him.

"Pretty sure you're wrong," he muttered, sitting down again. Rikku sat opposite him, hands clasped in her lap. Tidus tapped his fingers against the table, suddenly impatient. He didn't want to be lectured, and Rikku's lectures were all—mush. Be good, everyone will like you. Be nice, you'll make friends. What if he didn't want friends?

"Well," she said slowly, "I mean, of course people are a little suspicious of you... because you're Yevon, you know?" Tidus glared at her. She meant, 'because we think you're Sin,' didn't she? "But," Rikku said, eagerly,"that just means you have to work harder to prove them wrong! Show them that you're a nice person, and people will like you—you know?"

Tidus stopped his tapping, suddenly irritated all over again. "What do you mean?"

Rikku either didn't hear or ignored the edge in his voice. "I mean, you're a nice person, you know? I know you're kinda shy, but you're a good guy, and you just have to let everyone else know it, too—" she cut herself off as Tidus stormed to his feet.

"How would _you _know?" he snapped.

She shrunk. "I dunno, I mean—"

"You don't know anything about me! I'm not a nice guy! You don't know me at all! Don't talk like you do!" The three Al Bhed in the opposite end of the room all looked over, a bearded man standing up slowly to see the fight better.

"Sorry!" she squeaked, and then repeated it, slower: "Sorry. Sorry. I—" she wrung her hands and Tidus cut over her.

"Don't talk like you know me!"

"I know, but I think you're nice, I think you are," Rikku said, very quickly.

"Shut up!" It was a scream this time, a long building surge of anger. "Shut up!"

She flinched and ducked, fingers outspread. "But—"

"SHUT UP!" The Al Bhed on the other end of the room had decided enough was enough, the other two rising from their chairs, the burly, bearded man leading the way. "Shut up!" Tidus shouted again. "Don't talk like you know me! Don't talk like you know who I am, or what I've gone through—" Tidus noticed the approaching trio of Al Bhed men for the first time, and cut himself off, shaking. The sight of Rikku, ducked over and wide-eyed, filled him with a feeling like disgust. Without another word, Tidus turned and left, stomping past the Al Bhed before they could decide how best to react.

He spent the rest of the day in his bed in the medical wing. He wasn't hard to find, but no one came looking.

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x x x

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_...to be updated next **THURSDAY**.  
_


End file.
